Riff mark: 2:25
The industrial, elongated primal scream (or the spiritual
score for Terminator 2: Judgment Day, your pick), Demanufacture rises Fear-lessly amongst piles of charred bones and
greased bolts as the timeless-yet-futuristic bombardment of concepts driven to twelve.
The smoothest, sleekest piston to operate from the Roadrunner catalog, Fear
Factory scavenges the remnants of Godflesh’s grittiest grinders (no coincidence
that Dog Day Sunrise is a Justin
Broadrick-written cover), un-mangles the battered synthetics and injects tempo
and treble, thus becoming the easiest of the loudest to ingest, additional
kudos to the cybernetic mix and production of Front Line Assembly-liner Rhys Fulber. Dino Cazares’ right
hand and Raymond Herrera’s double-bass kick (triggers thematically acceptable here) are the unworn engines of rhythmic battery, a uniform match made in a
staccato, post-apocalyptic hell, never missing a millisecond of a beat. No
solos, no showing off, no time for any part of the New Machine to function out
of order. Pisschrist, even Burton C. Bell’s clean vocals lack vibrato, no cents
sharp, no cents flat, right in tune, precise and without human error. Every song a
declarative (barring the sludgy, ambient, morose A Therapy For Pain, a 10-minute closer/downer), a call-to-arms to a
futile war against riffs that grow larger as they magnetize aggression. These
are long beasts, averaging five minutes of cell life with all bars remaining. A
real shock to alertness. Turn off all natural senses and burn away every
micro-organism that makes up your flesh and plug in to the New Breed. Footnotes:
In college I used Self Bias Resistor
as my wake-up alarm for roughly two years. Throwaway tracks on limited edition
digipaks. Still trying to find a way to synch album with film Tetsuo: Iron Man.
No comments:
Post a Comment